


Silence Speaks Too Many Words

by DayStar



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, I Tried, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Smut to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayStar/pseuds/DayStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec never makes enough noise and Magnus is eager to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence Speaks Too Many Words

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this for a prompt. Butchered the prompt, so I won't include it here. Next chapter will be pretty much no plot, just sexy times. It's a little lacking in this chapter, but it was still fun for the fluff and angst. Hope I got these two cuties alright. Any comments or kudos much appreciated, I felt very... flail-y writing this.

Hot against his palms, Alexander’s chest moves – trembles – as the young man inhales, dark eyes heavily lidded. A slight smile curling up the edges of his mouth, Magnus moves his hands, trails them leisurely down the lean muscle and scars and tattoos, pausing every now and then to investigate further. Under his thumb, there’s a thick white slash across his lover’s ribs that someone – namely, him – could have healed much better. The parabatai ink spreads just above Alec’s left hip, partly covered by his jeans, and when Magnus traces his finger over the sinuous lines he can sense Alec shifting, pressing into his touch where a few impossibly short months ago he would have flinched away.

The smile becomes almost smug, and when Magnus’ hands slip up to caress hardened nipples, his Shadowhunter makes a small moan that ratchets up the satisfaction. Through a filter of pleasant heat, the warlock leans down, presses his lips against Alec’s ear, each teasing, lingering kiss he gives more deliberate than Alexander will ever know. When he catches his earlobe between gentle teeth, pulling at it, the young man makes another quiet sound, half aching, and Magnus desists, pushes himself up with one hand to consider the male under him. Admittedly the couch (while completely stylish) is a little cramped with the both of them sprawled out on it, but Alec looks roused, his eyes becoming more focused as the immortal halts his fun little antics.

_So why doesn’t he let me know he likes it?_

“What?” the Shadowhunter asks, and Magnus reflects it will take more than a few steamy make-out minutes to smooth over the prickliness that Alec so quickly grabs for whenever he feels himself being observed and judged.

“Just thinking,” he answers idly, thoughts easily locked behind an expert mask. “You know – I’m amazing.”

Alexander snorts, moves restlessly to find a more comfortable spot to push his bare back into before he replies. “I don’t know about that.”

“Mmm,” Magnus sighs dramatically. “That, you see, is the problem.”

To himself, he admits he adores the puzzled look on Alec’s face, the way his brow draws down, the innocent urge to solve a puzzle breaking through his stony façade. He also admits that he likes holding on to unanswered questions for a little longer than is decent, and his companion is aware of that fact at least.   

“What’s the problem?” Alec says eventually, giving up on figuring it out, and though he tries to scowl, a laugh bubbles within the words. Magnus adores that, too.

Come to think of it, there isn’t much that he doesn’t adore about Alec. That’s why this is troubling him now.

Carefully capturing one of Alexander’s wrists, stalling for time, the warlock turns it, slides his thumb over the tattoo marking the pale skin of his forearm. Funny – he used to find tattoos barbaric. Looking up, Magnus meets Alec’s intent stare, his breath hitching automatically as the intensity of the gaze envelopes him. Sometimes he wonders if the Shadowhunter is aware of what his eyes can do, if there’s anyone else who’s felt the same thing in response, if anyone ever provoked that sort of fierce reaction from the young man. But he isn’t the jealous type; it’s an idle sort of thought.

“Magnus?” The lightness has left Alec’s voice – it leaves so easily, like it’s afraid to stay – and on impulse Magnus leans down and kisses him, roughly trying to push away the doubts that plague his lover, still playing with the question in his mind, with his willingness to ask it. Alec’s stubborn though; his lips soften for only a moment before he pulls away with a soft exhalation. “Tell me.”

A command, the huskiness in his voice sheathing steel. Stopping himself from calling the Shadowhunter cute – because he really is, when he gets like this – Magnus tilts his head and sighs, not dramatically this time. He wants to do plenty of unspeakable things to Alec, but giving him a complex isn’t one. It won’t be hard to just make something up, to lie, but a conscience that’s slowly been nudging itself to the surface since he met the Shadowhunters warns that it wouldn’t be fair or right.

 _Since when should a four hundred year old have to worry about fairness?_ Even as he thinks it, the immortal is well aware of the petulance behind the thought, and it makes up his mind. This would be awkward, undoubtedly, for Alec if not himself, and maybe even hurtful, but he’s been captaining their ship for months now; he can steer it around the worst of the mal a laise.

“The problem… is not really a problem.” His Shadowhunter begins to scowl, clearly – and not unreasonably – expecting another evasion, but Magnus holds a finger over his lips, asking for a little patience, a little time. Ever since that night with Luke and the drinks, their first date – Magnus definitely considers it a date, even if Alec doesn’t – the gesture cannot fail to smooth the other male, bring a little bit of amusement into a soul that’s been taught to always be serious.

“Alexander, you know I’ve been with plenty of people through my years.” It’s a touchy subject; the way the young man goes still, smile fading, makes that clear enough. Alec’s made it plain he couldn’t care less who Magnus slept with before, but you don’t gain emotional equanimity in the span of three months. There’s a little jealousy, a little curiosity, but more than that, a little fear. Of course he doesn’t believe he could stack up to those the warlock has chosen to associate with – when has he ever been told by someone older than him that he can stack up to anyone?

Now it’s Magnus’ turn to frown – if Robert hadn’t blocked the immortal, he would have been receiving another irate call later tonight – and his hand reaches out to cusp the strong, tensed lines of Alexander’s jaw. “What I mean is, I’ve been around. I’ve learned what others like.” He smiles, rueful and inviting, into the uncertain expression on Alec’s face. “You could even say I’m a people pleaser. When I’m around, people are pleased.” There it is, the ghost of a returning grin, and he knows that the Shadowhunter is thinking of the amount of times Maryse has thrown something at Magnus’ head in the dubious privacy of the Institute. Admittedly, there’s more than one person who might not be _thrilled_ when he walks through the door, but that’s entirely beside the point.

Thinking about the point, he sobers slightly, searching the other man with an uncomfortably vulnerable feeling in his chest. Magnus doesn’t want to show it, but he does anyways (because apparently even four hundred years isn’t enough time to learn complete control) and abruptly Alec sits up, easily lifting Magnus off him so that they’re both upright. The Shadowhunter lets him go and raises one hand to rub at the back of his tousled, sweat darkened hair, face getting redder by degrees. “Look, Magnus, if I’m – if there’s something I could do better or – or that you like, I -”

“No, Alexander.” Sharply – too sharply – and when taken aback hurt crosses Alec’s face, Magnus hurriedly moderates his voice and his impatience both. It’s hard, sometimes, to remind himself how young his lover really is, how new to the world outside of a closet. “I’m enjoying our time together immensely, and you’re a rather quick learner,” he states reassuringly. That had honestly been a rather pleasant surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. If the Shadowhunter was considered (by Magnus, at the very least) to be the smartest of the bunch, why shouldn’t he be a quick study between the sheets as well as out?

“Then – what’s the problem? I don’t -”

“If I had to guess? The problem’s me.” It’s ridiculously hard to say that – his pride stings an extravagant amount – but Magnus has put quite a lot of thought into it over the last few weeks, and he can’t think of any other answer. Alec’s mouth, hanging open in disbelieving shock, is a balm to the injury, but the human’s surprise is just another reminder that Alec can’t imagine anyone but him being the issue in a relationship dynamic. It’s another reminder of what Magnus needs to do and has been, presumably, failing at.

A deep, impatient noise, and when Magnus comes back from his self-recriminations, Alec is shaking his head with a wry twist of his mouth. “Are all warlocks this cryptic?” the human asks, and there it is, that little smirk that sends a sharp flush of warmth through his body, makes him impatient and eager and even a bit annoyed, all of the piercing emotions he’d begun to think he’d never feel again. It makes it easier to spit out his words, to race for the finish line of this little drama of his own making.

“I’m not being cryptic, Alexander. I’m being coy.” And as his lover snorts again, reaching out to clasp his hand, Magnus pulls in a deep breath, calming himself, and then jerks his eyes up to Alec’s still searching face. “Have you been enjoying your time with me?”

He expects hesitation, a flustered stutter; it doesn’t happen. Immediately, fiercely, the dark haired Shadowhunter replies, “Yes.” Such a simple word, but the conviction could have lasted through eternity – would have to last through eternity, but there’s such a soothing release in his heart that Magnus refuses to think of such things.

Looking down, resisting the urge to break into a childish giggle, he laughs instead. “Well that, my darling Alexander, is a relief.” Of their own accord his fingers dance against Alec’s calloused palm, and Magnus would have risen, the need to move tingling in his feet, but his lover clutches at him more firmly, pulls him close. The Shadowhunter’s handsome face is taut, eyebrows knotted together in concentration, and Magnus has seen that look before, when Alec is hunting some non-human prey. Under that gaze he shifts, but Alec is gently relentless.

“Why would you think that I haven’t – that I’m not enjoying myself?”

The painful part is over, but this part isn’t exactly smooth, either. Still, buoyed by the knowledge that, at the very least, Alec has been having a good time, Magnus bravely forges ahead. Or so he tells himself. “Darling, I’m too old to beat around the bush.” He pauses, and can’t resist adding, “Or at least, around this bush.”    

Somewhat miraculously, his until recently white robed Shadowhunter picks up on that one, and Magnus can’t decide which is more amusing; Alec’s incredibly sarcastic eye roll, or the deep flush of red that paints his cheeks better than any tattoo. Before the human can sputter out a response – and this time Magnus _knows_ the reply would be a stutter – the warlock gallantly rescues his lover from that nasty awkwardness. Playfully, yet still careful, he says, “I’m very good at what I do, Alexander. I’ve had hundreds of years to practice. And I’m not talking about magic, either.”

The flush does nothing but spread, and it’s entirely too much to ask Magnus to keep self-control while staring at _that._ With a low chuckle he leans over, his hand catching the back of Alec’s hot neck as he kisses the man, a deep, hungry motion that pulls away their air and mingles it into something wet and searing. Alexander is the first to break away – with a gasp that’s so raw it might as well be blue – and the immortal lets him go reluctantly, fingers slipping from his skin like they’re holding precious silver.

He’s panting, burning with impatience, so for once Magnus flings his drama to the wind and speaks plainly. “When I was with others, Alexander, I knew what they liked because they told me. Not always with words but still – I knew. With you, you’re – quiet. Reserved. Sometimes I _entertain_ myself with the notion that I – Well, to put it in modern terms, that I don’t do it for you.”

 _Like a deer in the headlights._ That’s the first and truest observation that comes to mind when he pulls back to watch Alec, and it’s equal parts entertaining and ridiculous that one of the best stalkers of shadows could possibly look so cornered. Magnus doesn’t want to push, not too hard, not too fast, but he isn’t lying when he says he’s too old to play the game of adolescent fumbling. Sex is thoroughly, incredibly better when both partners give their opinion, and while they haven’t been together in that way long, it’s still been long enough for Magnus to notice the restrained calls, the muffled moans. If he’s doing it wrong, he wants to know, even if it means trapping his poor companion.

Who really does look well and scrupulously trapped. Alec’s mouth is open – he never closed it after they kissed – and his hands twist anxiously around each other, nervously enough that Magnus starts to doubt himself again. Maybe Alec’s not enjoying himself? Not just the physical, but… everything else? Maybe –

“By the angel.” The sound explodes out of his lover, rough and exasperated and somehow full of affection, and then the warlock finds himself being pulled on top of Alec, who – in an impressive display of strength, Magnus observes in a removed way, distracted with other things – seamlessly twists underneath him, supporting his weight until they’re both settled comfortably. And Alexander’s broad chest is, Magnus is happy to remember, almost as comfortable as the stylish couch.

Hands placed on either side of the Shadowhunter’s head, elbows dipping to rest against his collarbone, the immortal smiles roguishly. “I take this to mean I’m doing it for you?”

In answer Alexander shoves one arm, knocking Magnus off balance, and before he can catch himself Alec pulls him closer and finds his lips, slow and deliberate and as teasing as he ever gets. Hoarsely his lover murmurs, “It takes a lot to be worth getting loud,” before resuming his velvety contact. When Magnus naturally slips lower, kissing his jaw, his neck, his collar, the human groans softly, shifts restlessly under his mouth.

And Magnus breaks off his attention just long enough to think  _challenge accepted,_ before going lower, and then lower, his body tense for the delightful moment when Alexander would scream.   


End file.
